


Morning Song

by Higgles123



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgles123/pseuds/Higgles123
Summary: Alfie is having a hard time watching his wife sink into a dark depression and he feels like he can do nothing to help.
Relationships: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Morning Song

Alfie fingered the tattered edges of the photograph in his hands and felt the same sense of mourning he had felt for months. His wife was dead. Only not in the physical sense. No, Elodie Solomons had lost herself to depression almost four months ago and Alfie had grieved for her every day since.

At first, the subtle changes in her had almost gone unnoticed when he was working long hours and concentrating on keeping Sabini in line. He almost hadn’t noticed the way her smile stopped reaching her eyes or the way she was suddenly tired all of the time; that she had lost her appetite; that she didn’t want to go out for dinner that night or any night; that she was miraculously unable to come to Ollie’s house for Purim because she felt unwell. Despite recognising these odd behaviours, he put them down to nothing; even when that niggle in the back of his head gnawed and gnawed away at him, because his El would tell him if she needed him to know. She would crawl into his lap in front of the roaring fire while Cyril snored loudly at his feet and she would spill her little heart out to him because that’s what she always did. Only this time she didn’t.

Elodie began picking fights and growing irritated with Alfie for the slightest thing he did or said; she didn’t laugh at her favourite tv shows anymore nor did she cry at the ones that always reduced her to tears. She just stared at the box, looking but not really seeing, and all Alfie could do was turn up the volume to drown out the sound of her brain ticking in her head. He knew it was wrong but it was easier; easier than facing the reality which was that his El wasn’t his El anymore. Day by day she was becoming a stranger and he had no idea how to deal with it.

So Alfie did what Alfie did best. He shouted and bawled; told her this behaviour wasn’t acceptable and it wasn’t fair for her to treat him this way. He threw things and threatened to leave and told her she was a nutter and she needed help. He lashed out at her in all the ways he knew how because he had lost her and he didn’t know what to do. He lashed out because a tiny piece of him believed that hurting her the way she was hurting him would snap her out of this bubble and bring her back into reality. The sad harsh truth though was that it only helped to strengthen the wall she had put up around herself, and he didn’t have enough strength of his own to even attempt to knock it down.

Some days, he would catch a glimpse of something in her eyes; that sparkle and that zest for life, and Alfie would feel his heart catch, almost bubble with excitement. He would hold his breath and wonder if this was where it would all end and they could go back to normal. But then that dullness would return and each time it did, his heart would crack just a little more to see the person he loved most in the world reduced to something so sad and broken.

Alfie blinked and a single tear dropped onto the photograph, splashing onto Elodie’s smiling face, and Alfie closed his eyes to allow himself a moment to get composed. Alfie Solomons didn’t cry. The only other time he had cried as an adult was when he lost his mum, and even then it had felt unnatural and pathetic. But for some reason, he couldn’t hold back the tears this time. He held his face in his hands as the tears dribbled out from in between his fingers. His shoulders shook and for a few moments, he wasn’t Alfie Solomons, gangster and bakery owner, he was just an ordinary man who loved an ordinary woman. Only she was far from ordinary. She was wonderfully extraordinary and that was why he loved her so goddamn much.

Clearing his throat and sniffing, Alfie rubbed angrily at his eyes and picked up the phone. His fingers dialled the numbers without thinking and he waited patiently while it rang. And rang. And rang. He knew Elodie wouldn’t have gone out because she hadn’t been out of the house in almost three months; the only fresh air she got was going in the garden with Cyril, so where the hell was she? His first reaction was to panic; to rush home and make sure she hadn’t done something stupid; to rush home and make sure she hadn’t done one of the numerous things she had been threatening for weeks. He should never have left her alone. He should have insisted on having someone come and sit with her while he was at work. _Alright, calm the fuck down, Alfie. She might be asleep. She might be on the fucking toilet, for God’s sakes. Just give it ten minutes and try again._

Alfie’s eyes followed every ticking second of the clock until exactly ten minutes had passed and then that telephone receiver was in one hand while the other dialled those familiar numbers once more. This time when the phone remained unanswered, he felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t hear the clatter of his chair as it fell to the ground, a victim of his haste to leave the office. He didn’t remember telling Ollie he was leaving for the day, nor yelling for Ishmael to bring the car round to the front of the bakery. He didn’t recall which route Ishmael chose to take or how long the journey lasted; all he could concentrate on were the horrific images of his wife seared into his brain. When the car stopped outside the terraced house that Alfie and Elodie called home, he didn’t say a word to Ishmael and instead ran up the garden path, the purples and peaches and pinks of the flowers Elodie had lovingly planted last spring dancing in his peripheral vision as he passed them.

“Elodie!” he shouted, growling as his key fell to the floor before he could get it into the lock. With trembling hands he finally got the fucker open and he burst in through the front door desperately.

Only what he heard inside halted him completely. He blinked, wondering if he was dreaming. He had to be. Elodie’s voice floated through the hallway, enrapturing and encompassing him in memories that warmed his heart and made his knees buckle.

_“Last night, I crawled into bed,_

_With the darkest thoughts in my head._

_Could not find peace of mind,_

_The night was long and so unkind._

_Morning has finally come,_

_All my worries are undone._

_Wounded but stronger then before,_

_Morning clears the sky once more…”_

On shaking legs, Alfie walked silently through the house towards the sound of something he had never thought to hear again. And then he saw her sat at the kitchen table, guitar in her hands and Cyril resting at her feet.

“ _Yesterday’s pain and misery,_

_I won’t let it get a hold of me._

_I’m one with my sorrow,_

_We walk hand in hand._

_But it’s not who I am,_

_No, it’s not who I am._

_Morning has finally come,_

_Shadows vanish in the sun._

_A new beginning, now I’m sure_

_Morning clears the sky once more…”_

Alfie was afraid to come any closer in case the magical spell was broken, but her siren song lured him and spoke to his heart in a way he had waited for her to. She smiled when she saw him and it was real. It was like sunshine on the cloudiest of days. It was like rain after a drought, and she was the water to Alfie’s dry desert.

“El,” he whispered tentatively, his voice croaky and thick with emotion as her fingers plucked the last of the notes on the guitar strings.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, a tear sliding down her cheek as she set the guitar down gently on the table and walked towards him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Aint nothin’ to be sorry for, love,” he reassured her, pulling her to him so tight that he knew she could never get away even if she tried her hardest. He kissed the top of her head and breathed in the smell of her freshly washed hair. He couldn’t even remember the last time she had cared enough to shower.

“No, that’s not true,” she shook her head, lifting her eyes to look at his while her hands cupped his cheek lovingly. “I’ve been awful to you, Alfie and you’ve just taken it.”

“That’s cos I love you, El. I love you and I would take anythin’ you throw at me. The only thing I can’t take is seein’ the pain in your eyes while you fight whatever if it is that’s goin’ on inside that head of yours.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Which is why I’ve made an appointment with the doctor tomorrow. I’m going to get some help and try and get myself better. Not just for you but for me as well. I don’t want to be like this anymore, but at the same time I do. I don’t exactly know how to explain it, but it’s like I’ve gotten so used to feeling this way that it’s almost a comfort to me. However I know that’s not right. My head is lying to me and I’m listening; but not anymore, Alfie. I’m going to fight this, I _want_ to fight this. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy or that it’s going to happen overnight; I’m not saying that tomorrow or later I might not sink into those feelings again but I promise you that I will try my best to fight them.”

“And I’ll help you,” Alfie turned his head to kiss her palm, closing his eyes as emotion overwhelmed him. “I will help you in any way I can cos I love you, El. I love you.”

“I love you too, Alfie. I really do.”

“I know that, don’t I? Now are you gonna sing me another song cos I’ve fuckin’ missed your singin’, El. House feels empty without it.”

She smiled and nodded, taking his hand to lead him back to the kitchen table where her guitar and Cyril waited patiently.

As her voice floated through the house once more, Alfie couldn’t take his eyes from her. He didn’t care if this lasted for only hours or even minutes because for now he had won. _They_ had won. Melancholy, or whatever else folks these days called it, had lost it’s grip for just a short time but to Alfie it was a glorious victory. One day, perhaps in weeks or months, even years, from now he would look upon his wife and feel such pride that she had beaten her demons. Because the truth was that the victory wasn’t his to claim. She had earned it; she deserved it, and if tomorrow she woke up to find that dark cloud hanging over her once more, he would remind her of this moment. He would remind her that this wasn’t permanent, but his love for her was. And with that love he would help her get better. He swore it.


End file.
